Heart of Darkness
by MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: Rumplestiltskin, the only living person who understands Emma's struggle with the curse of the Dark One, tries to help her. But has the darkness truly released its hold on its former host? Part 6 in the EmptyHeart!Verse.


_**A/N: Part 6 in the EmptyHeart!Verse**_

 **Storybrooke Sheriff's Station  
** She'd cut off Regina's breathing just for a minute—a minor power struggle after the raven-haired mayor pissed her off—and everyone was acting all shocked and appalled. Snow was wringing her hands and crying; David was pale-faced and stricken; Killian was sulking and swilling rum out of a flask; and Henry was staring at her with a mixture of fear and disappointment. Seriously? Emma rolled her eyes at the drama—it's not like she actually _killed_ Regina.

xoxoxo

 **Earlier that Morning  
** Emma had awoken at the first breath of dawn to another fierce headache. Rushing to the bathroom to upheave the contents of her stomach, she hoped that vomiting would relieve the head pain as it had in the past. It didn't. A little more than two months ago she had taken on the Dark One Curse, swallowing the darkness to save Regina and all of Storybrooke. But since then, Emma had been plagued with headaches of increasing strength and frequency—headaches she kept secret from those she held dear. Why let them see how the curse was affecting her? They would just worry even more. At least she had her own house now and was spared the prying questions and concerned glances of her parents. Henry was sticking close to Regina. Emma couldn't deny that her son's emotional and physical distance hurt, but right now it was for the best. Still on her knees in front of the basin, Emma snagged a damp washcloth from the towel rack and blotted her face and mouth.

Perhaps a change in wardrobe would distract her from the pain, Emma decided suddenly, rising from the cold tile floor on wobbly legs. Anyway, she was tired of jeans, tired of flat-heeled leather boots, and tired of the ubiquitous red jacket that identified her as The Savior. She was no Savior—not anymore. Emma was the Dark One. Maybe it was time to start acting like it. Scowling, she recognized the problem—she needed something dark and dangerous to complement her new persona. Who, she wondered, glancing through her bathroom window at the pink streaks lighting the early morning sky, had more dark and dangerous clothing in her wardrobe than the Evil Queen?

So she'd gone to Regina's house to raid her immense walk-in closet. As Emma lost herself in the fun of choosing a new look, the headache weakened, receding to the back of her head. But Regina was none too pleased when she woke up find Emma sifting through piles of her expensive designer pieces, wearing one of her bustieres while hunting for the perfect black leather skirt.

Following an argument over a sexy pair of spiky stiletto boots, the pain in Emma's head intensified once more. Overcome by the insistent throbbing of her skull, Emma grabbed Regina by the throat, swiveling her surprised body around into a headlock. Lust for vengeance pulsed through Emma's veins and the darkness hissed, begging her to thrust her hand into Regina's chest and wrench out her shriveled heart. Emma's skin prickled; what could stop her from grinding that heart to dust, the way Regina had done to Graham and to countless other innocent souls? _It would be so easy._ Regina played at being a hero, Emma suspected, but the Evil Queen still lurked within.

"This isn't you, Emma," Regina had choked out, brown eyes moist and pleaded. "You don't have to do this." Troubled by her vicious and sudden attack, Emma had backed up and backed off, fleeing with an armful of clothes and the bitter tang of shame on her tongue.

Maybe it was her, and maybe it wasn't. Emma didn't know anymore. All she knew was she was tired of caring. Tired of putting everyone else first. Tired of these damnable headaches that grew worse with each passing day. After she had wandered the streets of town for a while, she wound up back at the castle playhouse where she'd first connected with Henry.

David and Snow had found her there and convinced her to give up the dagger, reminding her of their promise to help her fight off the curse. Grudgingly, she'd agreed—the old, boring, sensible Emma warring with the new, exciting, daring Emma. They're holding it now—her name, etched in the face of the blade, has replaced Rumplestiltskin's—but even with the protection of controlling her they refused to release her from the cell.

xoxoxo

 **Storybrooke Sheriff's Station**  
Restless and bored inside her six-by-eight foot prison, Emma requested some bubble gum and fashion magazines. If she was going to be treated like a common criminal while her parents figured out what to do with her, providing entertainment was the least they could do. Sniffling, Snow ran off to the pharmacy to meet Emma's requests, relieved to have a mundane task to keep her occupied.

Emma knew she should be strategizing with her family and mapping out a route to Camelot. Her focus needed to be on finding Merlin so he could free her and vanquish the Dark One once and for all. And she would fix her attention on those goals. Soon. But right now, she was morbidly fascinated by the pleasure-pain of the darkness worming its way into her undefiled soul. Darkness, she reasoned, that should have been there all along—until her parents had sacrificed Lily to ensure her goodness. Without giving Emma or anyone else a choice, they had forced the role of Savior upon her. Now it was her turn to choose. And she was taking it.

xoxoxoxo

When Belle and Rumplestiltskin arrived at the sheriff's station, they were greeted by the sounds of off-key singing. Emma Swan had her legs up on the wall of the cell. Tapping the black stiletto boots she had pilfered from Regina against the cinderblocks, Emma bellowed a cheerful tune at the top of her lungs. In between bursts of song, she blew enormous pink bubbles with the wad of gum clenched between her teeth and flipped through fat issues of Vogue and Cosmopolitan.

Unconvinced they should be there in the first place, Belle shot David an annoyed look. "You said she was angry. Are you sure she's not drunk?"

"I wish I knew," David sighed. "One minute she's snarling and griping; the next she's whistling like she doesn't have a care in the world. It's almost like…."

"Almost like she's _cursed_?" Belle asked, disgusted by David's ignorance. "Yeah, how about that."

"Sweetheart," Rumple stroked Belle's arm, calming her spirit. He felt a jolt of pleasure as she defended his character; God knew he was no saint but Belle was determined that others would understand the temptations of the curse he had borne for over 300 years. Restless, always restless, the darkness thirsted for blood and twisted every pure desire into something evil and mercenary. Rumple stifled a sigh—he understood Emma's mercurial temperament better than anyone else could.

Despite her apparent distraction, Emma was listening. She rose from the floor, walked to the front of the cell, and wrapped her long, pale fingers around the bars. "Could you guys, like, talk _to_ me instead of _about_ me?" she sneered, gritting her sharp teeth. "I'm standing right here."

All eyes focused on the new Dark One—the Dark Swan—as she had taken to calling herself. Clad in black from head to toe, the usually fresh-faced Savior was painted with carefully applied makeup. Her face was pale as snow, her eyes were lined with kohl, and her lips and nails were black. Emma's hair, normally worn in loose waves around her shoulders, was raked back into a severe bun. It, too, was white as snow. The sheriff's typically strong, confident aura was magnified and authority seemed to crackle around her like tiny bursts of lightning.

Clearing her throat, Emma broke the uncomfortable silence and turned to Rumplestiltskin. "Hey, Goldilocks! Well, whaddaya know—you're alive! How's the old ticker?" With incredible speed, she grabbed Gold by the lapels of his suit and jerked him roughly against the cell bars—the power of the curse making her freakishly strong.

He barely flinched.

Rumplestiltskin's non-reaction should have annoyed her. Rather, his nonchalance made Emma feel strangely at ease. Here was someone who understood. She released her grip. Leaning close so that their foreheads nearly touched, she whispered conspiratorially: "C'mon, tell them I'm not crazy. All I wanted was some new clothes, but they don't want me to have any fun. Are you going to be a grouch, too?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Belle snapped at Emma, taking an angry step forward. "He just got out of the hospital!"

"Belle, it's all right. Miss Swan was merely testing the waters."Gold stayed Belle with a gentle hand, then glanced around the room to briefly meet each person's startled gaze—Snow, David, Killian, Henry, and Belle. "Why don't you all leave Miss Swan and me alone for a few minutes, please. We've a few matters to discuss." His voice was crisp and all business.

"Rumple, I'm not leaving." Shaking her head, Belle crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her most bullheaded expression.

"Sweetheart, please," his voice was as soft as silk. "Could you just give us 15 minutes?"

"But Rumple, you're—" Belle started to argue, but he drew her aside and pulled her into his arms for a tender embrace. "Everything's going to be fine, love," he whispered into the shell of her ear. "I can handle Emma Swan; I promise."

"You'll call me if you need me?" She searched his eyes for reassurance, loathe to let him out of her sight and reach.

"Of course," he agreed readily.

Belle shot a warning look at Emma, narrowing her pale blue eyes into icy slits. "I'm going to be right outside. You've never shown Rumple much compassion, so forgive me if I don't sympathize with your plight. If you hurt him, I will use that dagger to make your life _very_ unpleasant. We're here for Henry—because he loves you and he wants his mother back. I was never afraid of Rumple and I am not afraid of you. Do you understand?"

As the company shuffled out of the room, Emma cracked her bright pink glob of bubble gum. Smirking, she offered Belle a jaunty salute. "Yes, ma'am."

xoxoxoxo

"Well, Gold," Emma purred and unleashed a sultry smile. "Alone at last. What _are_ you going to do with me?"

"Don't waste your charms on me, Dearie. I'm a happily married man and I've made a truce with your pirate. I don't relish the thought of a hook lodged in my back." Gold heaved the sigh of a longsuffering parent. "Besides, we have more important things to do."

"Like what?" she asked skeptically.

"Like teaching you how to control yourself," he answered.

"You mean the way you controlled yourself, Gold?" Emma laughed bitterly and dug her nails into her throbbing temples.

"This isn't about me, Dearie," he waggled a finger impishly. "So you can quit grandstanding. Unless you don't want my help?"

"Ha! The last time you _helped_ me I almost wound up inside that sorcerer's hat," she seethed peevishly. "Then, thanks again to you, I killed an innocent woman who was holding a gun to my son's head. I didn't know she couldn't actually hurt him."

"Collateral damage," Gold shrugged. "Besides, I would hardly call Cruelle de Vil innocent."

"You're a monster," she accused.

"Yes," he agreed readily, "I am. And that's exactly what you'll turn out to be if you aren't careful."

Emma's jaw dropped open and she stared at Gold in open-mouthed shock. Was he actually trying to be _nice_?

"By the way," he continued smoothly, "how's your headache?"

She was surprised again. "You knew?" she sputtered.

He arched one dark eyebrow.

"Fine," Emma sulked, capitulating. "Just tell me one thing—how the hell did you live like this? For 300 years? You must be a lot stronger than I am."

"Not stronger, Dearie. More easily seduced, perhaps?" he suggested. "The headaches are caused by resisting the evil impulses of the Dark One. The darkness does not like to be bested."

Emma's eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

"You may have noticed the pain eases whenever you make a selfish choice?" his mouth twisted into a wry smile. "For me, resisting the headaches was nearly impossible and I soon surrendered to the darkness. But I had never been brave or powerful. All it took was one taste and I became an addict, drunk on the power I always longed for but never had." He gave another self-deprecating smirk. "But you, Emma, you're the Savior. You've been powerful all your life."

Gold as the calm voice of reason was certainly a change, Emma thought. Not that Emma had any real reason to trust him. Oh, she respected him, but the man was as slippery as an eel. Even in his weakened, mortal state he was a formidable opponent. She knew she had to watch his every move, but right now he didn't feel like the enemy. He felt like a friend.

"I, uh, have your memories, Gold," she confessed in a whisper.

"Occupational hazard, I'm afraid," he explained.

Strangely breathless, Rumplestiltskin rubbed the back of his aching neck. He was growing very tired. Did this have to do with his proximity to Emma?

"You're sweating, Gold," Emma observed candidly. "Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?"

"I….yes, I'm fine," he faltered. Suddenly, Rumple clutched at his chest and doubled over as a sharp pain ripped through his body. He could feel the darkness inside Emma reaching for him. It recognized his heart and sought to scrabble back inside its former host, seeking to make a home in the white, empty space it used to fill.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed convulsively as the Dark One sang its song of seduction, pounding a vicious staccato rhythm in his blood. He could feel the clutching claws of evil constricting around his heart. Tempted, he was tempted. Should he let the Dark One take control? Or could he reject the heart of darkness that had been part of his life for centuries? Slamming his eyes shut, he pushed the darkness away with all his might, beginning to lose consciousness.

"No, no, no, no! Rumple!" Belle, who had been hovering in the doorway, came running to intervene. Her voice was fearful and urgent.

Belle threw her arms around Rumple's slim waist, hugging him from behind. Struggling under his slackening weight, she helped him slump gently to the floor.

"What did you do?" Belle snarled at Emma as she cradled Rumple in her arms.

"Nothing!" Emma's voice quivered and she grew even paler, the rouge on her cheeks standing out in two harsh spots of red. "Gold, I'm sorry," Emma made a helpless gesture toward the unconscious man on the floor. "I didn't know this would happen."

Emma was torn again: the Dark One clearly had a will of its own and she was consumed by remorse for all the times she thought Rumplestiltskin had been evil for evil's sake. On the other hand, now that the Dark One's terrible power was hers, she was pleased that she could cripple the town's most fearsome man without word or deed. Setting her malevolent thoughts aside, Emma focused all her energy on containing the darkness.

"I don't know what else to do, Belle," Emma acknowledged, weakening from the strain of keeping the Dark One from leaving her body in an attempt to consume Rumplestiltskin.

The Savior was unable to save. Rumple was once more fighting against the darkness. Belle's husband needed her. _He_ needed _her._

Belle did the only thing she could think of—she pressed her mouth to his, hoping desperately that True Love's Kiss would work. Please, God, let it be enough. It was. As it had in the Dark Castle so many years ago, the curse receded, releasing its tenuous hold and slinking back inside Emma.

xoxoxoxo

"We're going home," Belle announced when Rumple awakened, blinked up at her with dazed, unfocused eyes.

"Belle…" he rasped weakly, staggering to his feet.

"Now," she ordered brusquely. "We'll see you later, Emma." Belle offered Emma a brief but courteous nod and steered a shell-shocked Rumplestiltskin out the door.

"Wait! Gold, how do I fight this?" Emma begged, white-knuckling the bars of her cage.

Rumplestiltskin paused near the exit, still clutching Belle's arm for support. "Light," he murmured, looking at Belle. "The answer is light. Follow the light, Miss Swan, and you'll never lose your way."

 **Storybrooke Park**  
Out in the sunshine and breathing the pure, cool air, Rumple returned to himself. Relieved, Belle collapsed, sagging against him. Harsh sobs wracked her small frame and he cocooned her with his body, wrapping himself snugly around her shaking form.

"I can't take this anymore, Rumple," Belle cried piteously. "Do you understand what almost happened back there?" She released her tight hold on him with one hand, flinging her arm back in the direction of the station. "You're not strong enough for this. _I'm_ not strong enough for this. Let's just go away. Can't we please just go away and start over? We need a new life—away from this town and these people. What's keeping us here?"

Rumple suspected there was nothing sudden about Belle's plea for a fresh start. "Sweetheart, how long have you been thinking about this?" He pulled back slightly to look into her tearful blue eyes and cupped her cheeks with his hands.

"A long time," she admitted on a sigh. "Before, when we were making plans to go to New York, part of me hoped we would leave and never come back. But then, everything happened…" she trailed off, not wanting to bring up their painful past. Rallying, she ventured, "Remember what you said? There's a whole world out there. Not just for me, but for _us_. What do you think?"

"I think that my wife is absolutely brilliant," he replied, a wide smile splitting his face. "Let's make the arrangements. It's time to say goodbye to Storybrooke. Where shall we go first?"

 ** _Thanks for reading and reviewing!_**


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